


Upon Fractured Wings

by xXxBishopxXx



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Pain Kink, Shameless Smut, Slash, Slight Homophobia mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 15:30:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxBishopxXx/pseuds/xXxBishopxXx
Summary: There was no passion. No love. And nor would there ever be, Arthur knew this, between the two of them right in this moment it was about the battle. The fight. The pleasure.In which one Micah Bell's words stuck in Arthur's confused mind; Come see me sometime and I'll make it up to you...





	Upon Fractured Wings

**Author's Note:**

> So ...Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan isn't very popular, for obvious reasons ¬¬ But my simple brain decided to go and get side tracked by this one shot. 
> 
> *Spoiler* = This is set not long after Arthur has to recuse Micah from the Strawberry jail and the gunslinger says he'll make it up to him somehow. Of course, my gay ass had to go and think this up. ^^' I'm a terrible human being...
> 
> Please note; I am not a professional writer, nor do I ever wish to be, therefore all mistakes are my own. :)

It had to be the whisky, Arthur mused, knowing full well that if it wasn’t for the soft buzz around his mind then he wouldn’t have even remotely thought about doing this. Part of him wanted to turn around and pretend the idea had not completely taken over his brain since they had last met, nor had it mainly manifested until curiosity and alcohol mixed together and willed his body into action. Thus, upon his horse, he rode towards the outer parts of the small town called Strawberry. Mouth dry and his brain foggy with the sweet blurred lines of the devil’s brew running through his system, he pulled the creature he rode upon to a halt, hopping – semi falling – to the ground before he hitched it up to a nearby tree.

 

 Stumbling around, it took a moment or two for the world to stop spinning and for his legs to move in a more fashionably normal state – though the wobbling wasn’t helping him focus on the target at hand. The land before him provided little cover, open and exposed,  and he truly wished he had put on some warmer clothes – he remembered being boiling hot in the bar in Valentine, but now he was trembling at the cold nights breeze that threatened to sweep him off his feet if he wasn’t careful.

 

Arthur had to admit that it took him longer than what he had wished to follow the trail, seeing a small fire beckoning him closer like a moth to the flame, but there was a sense of achievement once he got close enough to see the person he had rode all the way out into no where for. _Damn fool camping out like some crazed hermit._

The flickering fire was the first thing to capture Arthur’s attention as he seeked its welcoming warm. Opening his hands, allowing the heat to touch his palms, he willed himself to stop shivering as he heard a chuckle come from his fellow son of Dutch.

 

He was sat on an old looking bedroll located under a small tent, which was basically a blanket flapping in the wind, daring to fly away had it not been for the sticks keeping it pinned down to the earth. His hands slithered along his two beloved pistols slowly, cleaning them and giving a quick aim each time until he was content with the work he had done – slinging them back into his holsters with the upmost care. His blonde hair, though matted, danced in the sharp winds which would no doubt get stronger as the early night ticked on.

 

No words had of yet been uttered between the two, and Arthur, for all his thoughts in writings, had absolutely no idea what to say or how to say it. He was not Dutch; he didn’t have a quick tongue. A quick temper, perhaps. Especially when it came to certain people, his shaded eyes stared at the sitting man as if to prove his own point. He was not one for words. Drawings, yes. But the outlaw didn’t quite know how to approach this matter, and for the hundredth time that night he felt like running away and hiding somewhere until these plaguing thoughts left him alone. If they ever did.

 

It seemed however; he did not have to say a word as a far-too-smooth for his liking voice flooded his ears. “I knew I was right about you, Morgan.” The words were cocky and bashful, and Arthur hated it. The tone alone was enough to make him grit his teeth.

 

“That so, huh?” Arthur tried to ignore the fact that the booze was wearing out on him, _damn cheap stuff never lasted long_ – only long enough for him to get into trouble.  

 

“Of course,” the tone dropped the bashfulness and took on a softer approach – like cooing a wild animal into submission. “Otherwise, why would you be here?”

 

That was a good question. Arthur didn’t have an answer for it. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t think of one either. It annoyed him to no end. It already felt like he was trapped in a spider’s web and the worse part – it was his own doing.

 

“I do wonder,” the man stood up with a light groan escaping his lips. He circled the small fire before standing behind Arthur – and the darker blonde of the two couldn’t help but gulp down a lump that had gathered in his throat at the movement. “What does old daddy Dutch think of his favourite sons’ stray steps into this side of life?”

 

Hot breath tickled against Arthur’s neck and he couldn’t supress the shiver that ran down his spine.

 

“Does he approve, hm?”

 

Two hands touched his hips gently, and it was the gentleness from this man that had made him jump more from how soft he moved rather than the touch itself, they trailed cautiously to the front of his waist and began to unbuckle his holsters and belt. They slowed down, too much, and Arthur felt as if he was silently being ordered to speak before whatever this was would be continued.

 

_Walk away, you damn fool…_ He closed his eyes. _Go back to camp. Pretend this whole thing never happened._

“…No…” Arthur finally answered, and just like he suspected – the movement progressed on. This wasn’t the first time he had drank too much and strayed into the unknown. It had been after Mary had broken his heart, Hosea and Dutch had taken him to a bar but it wasn’t long before he lost sight of them. Drunk and alone and being younger with less rough edges to his face, he had easily caught the eye of another male. He was taller. Hell, he had even been more muscular than Arthur which was a rarity.

 

The outlaw had even enjoyed the strangers company, it was like the man was actually listening to him and not just trying to get him over the situation like Hosea and Dutch had, and with a few more drinks later – both of them practically useless on their feet – they had sneaked into a back room and pleased one another. Arthur couldn’t remember the man’s name, never getting the chance to find out once Dutch knew what happened; he had followed them, biding his time and then he had killed him. The strangers blood smearing more than Arthur’s bare flesh. He did, however, remember the knife Dutch had put to his throat. The look in the elder’s eyes. The shame and disgust – the remarks he had made would forever be burned in Arthur’s memory.

 

Of course, Dutch had said he’d been drunk, and when he had sobered up he told Arthur that the man who had bedded him was in fact an O’Driscoll, but the younger hadn’t believed it, yet the fear of displeasing Dutch and having that knife back against his throat had made him stay quiet. They never spoke of it again; all that Hosea knew was the story Dutch told of a young Arthur Morgan being seduced by an O’Driscoll and taken advantage of without a choice. The pity that followed was enough to make him sick to his stomach.

 

So, no. Dutch Van Der Linde did not approve of this way of life. He didn’t approve of Arthur much since then either. It came to no surprise that not long after a young boy named John Marston had been brought into the camp, taking Arthur’s place as the favourite son. He couldn’t blame Dutch. Who wanted a man like Arthur to be known as their son? Adoptive or otherwise; no one did.

 

The sound of his holsters dropping brought Arthur back to reality and he forced himself to bury the past – if only he could forget that look in his adoptive father’s eyes.

 

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need approval.”

 

Arthur despised the way that voice affected him so, as blood began to travel downwards through his body. Opening his eyes, he turned his head slightly, orbs staring into arrogant ones. A thick amount of facial hair brushed against his neck as a tongue slithered its way up to the back of his ear – licking at the sensitive flesh there. While one hand stayed on his hip, the other slipped into his pants and started to stroke along his hardening length.

 

He didn’t know whether to blame the booze or his triggered memories, but the outlaw suddenly had the urge to fight. He twisted in the man’s grip, pushing his hands away and taking a swing at the other man. Who, of course, in his current state, easily took him down – forcefully hitting the ground with a large amount of discomfort on Arthur’s part due to the tackle onto his back. The blondes weight suppressing his struggles as he straddled his waist, his own arousal becoming apparent as it rubbed against Arthur’s even though it was covered by fabric.

 

A hefty slap braced Arthur’s cheek and he hissed at the pain. “I knew you was gonna be a fighter, Arthur,” those gentle hands turned rough once more. Arthur’s shirt was ripped apart, no more patience left, and the cold air soon met his length as he felt his pants be pulled down to his knees. “Gonna make me enjoy this more.”

 

Tossing and turning as best he could, Arthur wanted to spit at the man as they continued to fight, he was sure he’d have a swollen cheek and black eye in the morning. Neither had let up, until Arthur finally managed to get the upper hand and turn them around – grinding down eagerly against the swelling member of his companion.

 

Arthur forced his mouth onto the others, biting, nipping and sucking to be granted entrance – he entangled his fingers into the others hair and pulled him in closer. There was no passion. No love. And nor would there ever be, Arthur knew this, between the two of them right in this moment it was about the battle. The fight. The pleasure.  And he needed it badly, the sting echoing from his cheek only made it better.

 

Arthur felt his tongue be graced with a warm mouth, and he melted into the sensation; it had been far too long since he had been this close to anyone. Yet he yelped, eyes going wide, as his tongue was bitten into. Instinctively he tried to pull away, but the teeth merely sunk in deeper making him whimper loudly like a kicked dog.

 

Two hands grabbed his throat tightly, squeezing as they rolled back around so Arthur was once more on his back, his tongue being released – though a decent portion of blood spluttered out of his mouth. The taste was vile.

 

“That’s a good boy, Morgan,” his own blood was spat back into his face. “I wanna hear you make those sounds more – I don’t care who hears – I want them all to know just who the great Arthur Morgan is begging for.”

 

Arthur, seeing stars at how tight the grip was around his neck, held onto the others’ wrists until they broke away from his throat – leaving him a panting mess as he was turned onto his front. His knees being forced up, legs spread and ass up in the air.

 

The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed as Arthur winced at the spank he received. “How bad do you want me, Arthur?”

 

No answer. Another spank. Harder. Flesh turning a shaded pink from the contact.

 

“I said; how bad do you want me?”

 

This time Arthur cried out at the sheer force. “Bad!” He turned his head to face his tormentor, eyes pleading. “Real bad…” The arousal was killing him, and he couldn’t help but sneak a hand down to rub attentively over his manhood.

 

“Did I give you permission to touch yourself?” A fist connected with the back of his head. Arthur’s upper half clasped onto the bedroll; his bottom half being held up by his fellow outlaw.

 

“…No…”

 

“No, what?” Another spank met his rear.

 

“No, sir…” Damn it, Arthur hated him so much, but he hated himself more for getting such a kick over the whole thing as another shiver ran down his spine at the thought of losing all power to another person.

 

“Good boy…see Arthur?” He leaned down over his back whispering into his ear. “Old dogs can learn new tricks. You behave,” he paused, licking his hand before sliding it delicately over Arthur’s hardened member, making the other man’s breathing hitch in pure delight. “You get rewarded.”

 

Arthur couldn’t form any sentences and merely nodded; he wanted this. He needed this.

 

“You be a good boy and stay there for a second…”

 

He would never admit that he whined at the loss of contact. He could hear him rummaging around for something, his covered manhood could be felt against the back of Arthur’s thigh, and the dark-haired male wanted nothing more than to rub against it needlingly – but the fear of being denied those touches were too strong and he remained still. Following the orders given and not moving an inch.

 

His eyes, however, had other plans. He watched him collect something from the side before he began to undo his own fabric bounding material until his lower half was exposed – making Arthur lick his lips greedily at the sight. He now knew why the man was so boisterous all the time. He caught Arthur’s eyes and the outlaw thought for a moment he would get punished for it but it was only met with a smirk.

 

“Don’t you worry, this is more for my benefit than yours,” he began to rub his throbbing member in a thick amount of what Arthur could only assume was greased animal fat, his fingers still heavily loaded with the greasy ointment. “I know you like things rough, sweetheart.” That mocking tone came back, and Arthur wished that small gesture of a name had not made him want to obey the man’s every whim even more.

 

A finger began to circle his entrench, and Arthur’s legs were nothing but jelly by the time it entered him. It was slow, and it hurt like hell even with the animal fat. No time was wasted as the finger moved in a back and forth motion.

 

“Jeez, I need to loosen you up some’, how longs it been since you last got laid?”                    

 

The question went unanswered as Arthur focused on his breathing, his cheeks puffy and pink as he panted – another finger entering him and stretching out his passage. He was enjoying the feeling far too much and it scared him, but he didn’t – couldn’t – stop it.

 

“Please…” Arthur begged. “More…I…want…more…” His voice was light compared to its usual rough and coarse tone, but he couldn’t bring it in himself to care about how weak he sounded. He just wanted to be filled completely.

 

Much to Arthur’s disappointment, the fingers were suddenly stolen away, and he went stiff, wondering what he had done wrong to cause the other to withdraw, but what came next was better than what he could have hoped for.  There were no soft or gentle movements as a pulsing member was pushed into Arthur’s ass roughly, in order to not cry out, the outlaw bit into the bedding beneath him harshly.

 

“So damn tight, Morgan…” Nails dug into his hips as he was moved in time with the blonde male, finding a rhythm together. It was deliberately cautious, Arthur noted, those wicked eyes barring down dominance and power over him. His slick hand grabbing his cock and stroking it, but it was with a feather light touch. A tease. And he was a moaning wreck all through it.

 

Arthur wanted to yell at him to stop toying with him and get on with it, and he was about to as well, until finally he moved on his own accord. To any other the pace would have been brutal, his hips beating against Arthur as he pumped himself in and out of his puckered hole, his hand speeding up the jerking motion with each thrust in and out, but to the outlaw it was pure bliss. It hurt, only naturally, but the pain and the pleasure as a bundle of nerves within him was hit repeatedly made his quiver and shake and wither like a leaf in the wind. The actions were messy, but they did the job they were intended for and it wasn’t long until Arthur’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he came with a moan of unbelievable pleasure.

 

His softening member let go of, his hips were once again taken hold of, skin slapping against skin in full heated touches until the male on top of him bit sharply down onto Arthur’s shoulder as he came deep within him.

 

Arthur didn’t remember much after that. Other than being thrown down like a rag doll - he was nothing and was easily exposed of as he was carelessly chucked to the side. He recalled hearing the other man speak a few times _, “just you and me, sweetheart…”_ but mostly the words faded in and out as he fell into a light slumber, his aching body feeling relaxed and calm even after such a handling. Arthur didn’t stir from his sleep, he knew he would regret all of this in the morning, but for right now, he was just glad that he’d finally found what he had been looking for...

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp. That happened. :P


End file.
